


Imperfect Perfection

by perfect_plan



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends, Family Issues, M/M, Neighbors, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 16:17:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8020645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfect_plan/pseuds/perfect_plan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky moves into a new house and is immediately rubbed up the wrong way by his neighbor. But Bucky isn't exactly the easiest person to get on with and maybe things aren't completely what they appear to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imperfect Perfection

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this fic kicking around for a while and finally got to finishing it. As always I hope I've handled the subject matter well. Enjoy!

Bucky had never been a perfectionist. He hadn't been in school and he sure as shit hadn't been in college. His grades had been fine and yeah, he _could_ have tried a little harder, he _could_ have put a little more effort in but his motto had always been Do Your Best. Maybe he'd twisted it a tad so that Do Your Best actually meant Just Do Whatever And Hope It's Enough but he was willing to stick by that. Becca was the perfectionist in the Barnes family. She'd always had the perfect grades, the perfect appearance, the perfect hobbies. She was now First Chair in the San Francisco Symphony and Bucky couldn't be more proud of her; they were a year apart in age and because Becca had been so smart as a kid she had skipped a grade and ended up in most of Bucky's classes, except she also took the advanced college courses and everyone had always assumed that there was some kind of sibling rivalry there between them but there wasn't.

Bucky had resigned himself early on in life to the fact that he wasn't gifted like Becca. His parents had tried to encourage him with music and art but his violin skills were trash compared to Becca's, his artistic inclinations ran more towards comic books than Matisse ("James, comics are _not_ art," his mother had proclaimed sternly when Bucky had tried to explain Will Eisner to her) and mostly Bs with the odd C were cause for serious discussions around the dining table. He didn't dress right, his hair was never how they wanted it to be (which is why he'd grown it out), his friends were "delinquents." His parents had hit the roof when he'd come home with a tattoo at seventeen, done by a tattooist friend who didn't mind breaking the law - a howling wolf on his right upper arm - and he'd been pretty happy with that outcome. They had insisted on paying for him to have it removed but that had just made him get more. They stopped forcing him to attend their dinner parties when both of his sleeves had been completed.

It would have been easy for Bucky to resent his perfect sister but he didn't; it was what it was. Becca was gifted and sweet and funny and never rubbed his nose in it and Bucky loved her. So he had accepted and made do with the fact that he could never live up to his parent's insane standards of what was considered perfect and Did His Best and he was pretty happy for it. A few people might say that he had talent and never wanted to try but those aren't people he talked to much anymore.

Bucky moved into his new place on a Friday. He lugged another box from the U-Haul through the front garden of his house to the porch and stopped for a breather. The house was set in a nice street, a bit more well-to-do than Bucky had expected to be able to afford but his apartment in the city had been worth more than he'd thought and if he was going to up stakes and move to the suburbs, then he wanted to do it right. He loved the city but had needed a change, feeling stressed and harried most days, worried that he had been on his way to a an ulcer. You couldn't get more different than here.

All of the houses had a similar style; two-storeys with neat lawns and porches. The house on the left must belong to an old couple because the floral drapes looked like they were right out of the 50s. The house to the right, he wasn't sure who could live there. It looked as though it had been painted recently and all of the windows gleamed. The lawn was a lush green, well-kempt and the rose bushes that lined it almost unreal with huge waxy rich flowers.

Bucky lit a cigarette and decided to worry about the neighbors after all of his crap was in the house and he was settled.

***

Two hours later and everything was inside. Bucky closed up the U-Haul and left it on the driveway, stretching out the crick in his neck. It was due back tomorrow and while he would have liked to have returned it today, it was getting late and he was beat. He was about to go back inside and consider dinner when he heard a deep voice calling from the other side of the truck.

"Hello?" A tall blond guy peered around the back of the U-Haul. "You must be the new neighbor."

Bucky wiped his hands on his jeans. "Yeah. Hi, how's it going?"

The guy stepped up the driveway and offered a hand. "I'm Steve Rogers. I live next door." He indicated to the house with the perfect roses. He must have just come back from work; he was wearing a very nice suit and Bucky could almost see his face in the guy's shoes, they were so polished. His hair was neat and parted at the side, a lot more respectable than Bucky's scruffy chin-length mop and they looked to be about the same age. His mother would love this guy, he could tell; he was exactly the kind of person she had always tried to make him look like. He watched as Rogers' eyes quickly scanned the ink on his arms below the sleeves of his t-shirt.

Bucky shook his hand. "Bucky Barnes. Nice to meet you."

"Welcome to the neighborhood." Rogers smiled but it was kind of stiff, almost like he didn't smile at people often. "It's good to see someone in this place. The last people left a while ago, kind of let the lawn go." He laughed a little.

Bucky turned to look at the grass; it was a bit overgrown but not by much. "I guess. I didn't have a lawn in my last place, let alone a yard so it's nice to see some green."

"I have a lawnmower if you don't; you're free to borrow it," Rogers said.

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind," Bucky said.

"I could get it for you now, if you like."

Bucky smiled. "I appreciate the offer but mowing my lawn is the last thing I want to do right now. It's been a long day."

Rogers smiled back. "Of course. It just doesn't do it any good to let it overgrow."

Jeez, what was with this guy and grass? Bucky folded his arms and continued to smile. "Oh, I'm sure it's not in any pain."

"Well, anytime you want to borrow my mower, just let me know."

"I will." Bucky watched as Rogers walked down his driveway and back to his own house. "That was fucking weird," Bucky mumbled to himself and headed inside to grab some food.

***

Bucky spent the weekend unpacking and by Sunday lunchtime, the place was starting to look a little like home. He had just finished a sandwich and was drinking a beer (it was after 12pm, so sue him) when there was a knock on the door.

Rogers was standing on his porch. He was wearing a checkered shirt and khakis that were so crease free they, looked like they'd been pressed professionally. "Hi again."

Bucky took a drag of his cigarette and nodded. "Hello. I still don't need that lawnmower just yet." He leaned against his door frame and swigged his beer.

Rogers smiled that odd non-smile again. "I didn't come here about that. I came to talk about the tree in your backyard. It overhangs onto my property and I was wondering if we could come to some kind of arrangement about trimming it. I had an agreement with the previous owners."

"Uh, sure. I'll get right on it when I get around to sorting out the backyard."

"Do you know when that will be?" Rogers asked.

Bucky's heckles rose. "Is it that important that it needs done right this second?" He kept his voice even. He hadn't counted on being hassled by his neighbors as soon as he'd moved in.

"Well, no but I think it's always best to sort these things out sooner rather than later. Especially since it'll be Autumn soon."

"What does Autumn have to do with anything?" Bucky asked. This was getting weird again.

Rogers looked like he was getting impatient. "I'd just rather not have leaves all over my backyard."

Bucky snorted. "I think you'll get leaves in your yard during the Autumn anyway, especially in New England."

"Yes," Rogers said slowly, "but if your tree is trimmed back enough, I'll get less leaves in my yard and it'll mean less work cleaning them up."

Bucky was pissed off and amused in equal measure. What was this guy, some kind of control freak? He did _not_ like control freaks especially when they tried to control _him_ ; he'd had enough of that from his parents growing up. He decided to be a dick about the whole thing. It would serve this guy right. 

"What if I trim the tree but the wind blows some leaves into your yard anyway?"

"That's not - "

"What if other leaves get blown in from trees in other yards? I can't imagine it's fun going through all the leaves and matching them up to the correct trees so you can hand the leaves back to their owners."

Rogers was not amused. "Look, I just wanted to talk about this now to set things straight is all."

"I'll sort out my tree when I sort it out, okay? I haven't even been here for two days. I've got a lot of shit to do." He dropped the butt of his cigarette into his beer bottle and Rogers looked slightly horrified by the action.

"Alright Mr Barnes," Rogers said stiffly. "We'll talk about it another time."

Bucky grinned. "I can't wait, Mr Rogers."

Rogers nodded curtly and walked briskly off of Bucky's porch and back to his own house.

Bucky closed the front door and made a mental note to not cut his lawn or trim his tree for as long as it pissed that guy off.

***

Natasha called later that afternoon. "How's the new place?"

Bucky flopped onto the couch. "Pretty cool. The house is in a very respectable neighborhood. You'd be disgusted."

"White picket fences? Happy kids on bikes riding down the street?"

"Yep."

He could hear Natasha shudder. "Sounds like a nightmare."

Bucky sniggered. "Oh, wait until you hear about the guy who lives next door." He proceeded to tell Natasha about Steve Rogers and his landscaping obsession.

"Sounds like he has too much time on his hands," Natasha said.

"Exactly. You know what's even worse? He's really _hot_. Like unbelievably hot but then he opened his mouth and it all went down hill."

"Poor you."

"Tell me about it. Tall, blond, blue eyes, tight little butt. It's criminal that there's no personality to go with it all."

"I guess you'll just have to search further down the street for a hook-up."

Bucky stretched out on the couch and studied his new ceiling. "How's Clint?"

"I wouldn't know. I haven't spoken to him for the last two days."

"Uh-oh, what happened?" Natasha and Clint were infamous in their circle of friends for their fights. They could last anywhere from two to eight days but were always resolved by frantic make-up sex. Bucky had had the non-pleasure of hearing them when they'd made up more than a few times when they had been roommates back before Natasha and Clint moved to Chicago for Natasha's job.

"He made fun of my stuffed cabbage."

"That's not a euphemism is it?" Bucky asked.

Natasha huffed. "Don't you start. I take my golubtsy very seriously. Mock my cabbage rolls, mock me."

"Perish the thought," Bucky replied. Natasha's stuffed cabbage rolls were good. "Is Clint sleeping in the garage?"

"With a black eye. That was an accident though. I didn't think the wooden spoon would _actually_ hit him."

Bucky laughed. "Well, tell him if he wants to come and stay with me, flights are cheap."

They chatted for a few more minutes and then Bucky hung up, wanting to arrange his bookcases. As he considered how to start, he glanced out of his living room window. Rogers was in his front yard watering his roses. Occasionally he leaned in and plucked a browned leaf from the bushes and put it into a little baggie he was carrying. Bucky watched with interest for a few moments.

"Wow," he muttered. "What an asshole."

***

Bucky didn't hear from Steve Rogers for the next week. He saw him in the mornings though; Rogers went running at 6am on the dot every day, an adorable Cocker Spaniel bounding happily beside him on a leash. He always ran in the same direction. Bucky had to get up early because his commute to work in the city was longer now, but he didn't mind; he was starting to enjoy suburban life.

Bucky's backyard was fairly small, like every other house on the street; it had a patio, a lawn and of course, the tree that hung over into Steve Rogers' yard. Bucky had been scoping out the patch of nettles down by the back gate and wondering if he could be bothered to clear them. He was making his way back to the kitchen when he saw Steve Rogers come out of his house.

"Mr Barnes," he called, walking over to the fence that separated their yards. "Can I have a word?"

Bucky groaned under his breath but pasted a smile on his face and sauntered over. "Sure."

Rogers' head and shoulders were visible above the fence and there was no smile on his face this time. "Can we please talk about your tree?" He nodded to it. "I would really like to get it sorted out."

Bucky folded his arms. "I'll take care of it." The tone of his voice very resolutely said _I don't have any intention of taking care of it_.

Rogers frowned a little. "When."

"When I take care of it."

Rogers sighed. "Look, I can do it. I have a trimmer and ladder and it won't take me long. You won't have to lift a finger."

"I _said_ I'll do it," Bucky growled.

"I can get my tools if you need - "

"I can get my _own_ tools," Bucky snapped and part of him was aware that he was acting like a little kid but Rogers was very much trying to push him and Bucky's first instinct when anyone did that to him was to push back. "I have to go now. I can hear my phone ringing." His phone was in his pocket and very much not ringing.

Rogers clenched his jaw and Bucky would be a huge liar if he said that did nothing for him. It was almost worth winding this guy up for the cute annoyed faces he made. "Alright." He stomped off back to his house, slamming the kitchen door behind him.

***

"Can you _believe_ that guy?" Bucky complained to Nat later that night after recounting the earlier interaction with Rogers.

"Hmm," Nat replied.

"What?" Bucky said.

"Well, he was being more than reasonable this time by the sounds of it. Why would you refuse his offer to cut your tree? It's less work for you."

"I thought you were on _my_ side!" Bucky cried, incensed.

"I was, until you started acting like a dick to him."

Bucky spluttered. "I was not acting like a dick."

"Dude, you were a dick." That was Clint.

"Do you have me on speaker phone?!"

Nat snorted. "Oh, get over it."

"So you guys made up? Oh wait, ew! Are you in bed?"

"Totally post-coital," Clint said and Bucky shrieked.

"Oh, get _over_ it," Nat said again. "And get over this thing with your neighbor. You bring your issues with your parents to everything and there's no need. Just let the guy cut your fucking tree."

Bucky bristled. Nat had hit a raw nerve. "That's not the point."

"Isn't it?" Nat said.

"No, it isn't," Bucky whined back, feeling betrayed. "I don't like being poked."

Clint snorted. "That's not what I heard."

"Thanks for the support," Bucky spat.

"Bucky, it's a fucking _tree_." Nat was getting bored now, he could hear it.

"That's not the point!" Bucky shouted and hung up.

***

Bucky liked evenings in the suburbs, especially during the summer; everything was a little hazy, the sound of lawnmowers in the distance was almost constant and comforting and he could sit in his backyard and smoke. He really should quit but whenever he thought about it too much, it just made him anxious and he lit up again and before he knew it, he was buying another pack of cigarettes. He was just stubbing out another one when his doorbell rang. He walked through the house to answer it.

Steve Rogers was standing on his porch looking pissed off. "I'm sorry to bother you but this is unacceptable." He held up a baggy full of cigarette butts. "I don't care if you smoke, that's totally your choice, but I _do_ care when these end up in my yard."

"Ah," Bucky said. Yeah, he was a little guilty there. He tended to flick his butts into a shallow plant pot by the fence and he may not have cared if he missed and few ended up on the floor. Evidently, some had made their way under the fence but he had not intentionally flicked them into Rogers' yard. "Sorry about that."

"Are you?" Rogers asked huffily.

"Yes," Bucky said with a frown.

"Because you really seem set on annoying me and I can't tell if this is on purpose." He shook the baggy.

" _I_ seem set on annoying _you_? Speak for yourself pal," Bucky said and folded his arms. "You jumped down my throat before I was even through my own front door about my lawn."

Rogers' shoulders tightened. "I offered to lend you my mower, I didn't jump down your throat."

"Dude, you did," Bucky said.

"There's a certain standard that this neigborhood adheres to and your lawn is letting that standard down," Rogers said briskly.

"The neighborhood's standards or _your_ standards? It really does rile you that I haven't mown it yet, doesn't it?" Bucky said, grinning a little.

Rogers' jaw set in that hard line again. "No, you're letting the street down."

Bucky barked out a laugh. "Well, no-one else seems to give a shit."

Rogers just shook his head. "I've got better things to do than stand here and try to reason with you."

"Are you sure? Because I could do this all day." Bucky leaned against his door frame and cocked his hip. That was something he tended to do when he was flirting with someone and while Rogers was extremely attractive, he was a total dud in the personality department. That didn't mean that Bucky couldn't make a game of it though. He thought it was perhaps working a little because some pink rose in Rogers' cheeks.

"Here," he said, thrusting the baggy of cigarette butts at Bucky then marched angrily back to his own house.

Bucky went back inside, slamming his front door for good measure and headed to the fridge to get a victory beer. He texted the whole exchange to Nat.

NAT: Okay, he was kind of a dick for not accepting your apology but why don't you just be the bigger man and set things right? You have to live next door to him after all and having a bad relationship with a neighbor can really suck.

BUCKY: _He's_ the one that needs to be the bigger man! Besides, it's kind of fun watching him get all bent out of shape.

NAT: You can be such a prick sometimes, James.

Nat only ever called him James when she was really mad with him.

BUCKY: _He_ started it.

Nat didn't text him back.

***

A few days went by without Bucky crossing paths with Rogers again and as far he could tell, no-one else was bothered by the state of his lawn which just made Bucky even angrier with Rogers. He was a control freak, pure and simple, just like his parents. Well, just like with his parents, Bucky wasn't going to let Steve Rogers get the better of him. He was going to let that stupid tree hang over into Rogers' yard and he was going to let his front lawn grow as much as it wanted to. He wrinkled his noise at Rogers' roses in his front yard, his neat lawn, his perfect house, his perfect shoes, his stupid perfect body. Bucky would never admit to anyone that he watched Rogers leave on his run with his stupidly adorable dog every morning; that his eyes would roam over Rogers' perfect wide shoulders down to his perfect ass. Nope. Bucky was happy keeping all of that to himself.

Bucky was running a little late one morning and dragged his recycling out to the curb, the beer bottles inside jingling. A few fell out as he set the box down and started to roll across the sidewalk. Bucky dropped his bag and caught one with his foot and the others dropped into the gutter with a clink.

"Milo, no!"

Bucky looked up to see Rogers' dog bolt out of the front door of his house and head for the street. Bucky quickly set the beer bottles down and caught the Cocker Spaniel before he ran into the road. It wasn't too busy this morning but enough cars sped down their street in the early hours that you didn't want dogs running around without a leash. Bucky held the dog by the collar, laughing as Milo tried to scramble up him, tongue lolling. He was very friendly, with big brown eyes and a lovely tan coat.

"Hey boy," Bucky chuckled as Rogers ran down the driveway frantically calling the dog's name.

Bucky looked up, ready to make some kind of glib remark but stopped when he saw how shaken Rogers was. He was breathing heavily, his hair dishevelled where he'd just run a hand through it, face red and blotchy. He wasn't dressed in his work clothes today, just a pair of pristine jeans and a spotless white t-shirt.

"He's okay," Bucky said, still kneeling on the ground. Milo looked up at Steve and sat, happily wagging his tail. "Just a little excited."

"Oh my god, Milo. _Bad dog_ ," Rogers said, maybe a little too sternly and he pointed at the Cocker Spaniel. Milo whined a little and his tail stopped wagging.

Bucky's sympathy for Rogers faded instantly. "Dude, he's fine. Jeez. Take it easy on him."

"Don't tell me how to act with my dog," Rogers snapped, surprising Bucky a little. "You're the last person I need telling me - " he stopped and scooped the dog up, cradling him, glancing down at the beer bottles that Bucky had left on the sidewalk in his haste to catch Milo. "Great, now your crap is spilling out onto the street."

Bucky felt a rush of anger and picked up his beer bottles. "You are such a self-righteous prig."

Rogers's glared and then turned his back on Bucky, leaving him with his beer bottles. "Mow your lawn," Rogers called back angrily over his shoulder. "It's a goddamn disgrace. I can't stand looking at it."

"Hah!" Bucky shouted triumphantly. "I knew it! Bringing down the standards of the street, my ass! Stop trying to push your stupid standards onto me and get over it, Prig!"

Rogers slammed his front door so loudly that Bucky saw his living room window shake slightly. Bucky shoved the beers bottles into his recycling box and then picked up his bag. He gave the finger to Rogers' house just in case he was watching and then stomped off towards the bus stop.

***

The encounter left Bucky feeling grumpy all day. He couldn't believe he had almost felt bad for Steve Rogers. He wondered what kind of friends the guy had and how they could stand him; he was so fucking _uptight_. At lunchtime, Bucky sent Nat a text.

BUCKY: Are you talking to me?

Ten minutes went by and then his phone pinged.

NAT: Are you still acting like a prick?

BUCKY: Rogers was actually a prick to me today when I was nice to him.

Bucky briefly recounted this morning's little drama.

NAT: Is this all you're going to be talking about from now on?

BUCKY: Would you rather I talked about baseball?

NAT: Either way, I lose. Clint is loving the Neighbor War.

BUCKY: It's hardly a war. More of a skirmish at the moment. I think I'm winning.

NAT: There are no winners in war, you idiot. 

***

When Bucky got home, it very much became a war.

He dumped his bag by the front door and went upstairs for a shower, eager to wash away the grime of the day and the bad mood he'd been harbouring since this morning. After spending twenty minutes under the hot spray, he stepped out feeling a little more human. He wrapped a towel around his waist and dried his hair a little, then went into his bedroom to throw on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, intending to veg out for the rest of the evening in front of the TV. As he walked by his window which faced onto his back yard, he almost did a double take. He turned and stared down, anger and disbelief twisting his face.

"What. _The fuck_ ," he fumed.

Rogers had cut his tree.

The branches overhanging into Rogers' yard were gone, leaving the tree oddly asymmetrical and bare. Bucky couldn't believe it. That _asshole_ had just gone ahead and _cut his tree_. He stormed down the stairs and out of his front door, still in just a towel with his hair dripping and ran up to Rogers' house, pounding on his door, his temper at boiling point.

Rogers answered and upon seeing Bucky clad in just his towel and nothing else, went puce from his neck to his hairline.

"What are - " he began.

Bucky poked a finger into Rogers's chest and gave him a little shove. "You cut my tree!"

Rogers stood his ground and composed himself. "I had the day off so I trimmed it. I did you a favor."

"A favor?" Bucky shouted. "I told you I would cut it. You had no right."

Rogers folded his arms and Bucky tried not to stare at how _big_ his arms were. "You had no intention of cutting it. The branches were on my property. I was well within my rights to cut them."

"You had _no right_ to cut my tree!" Bucky snarled again.

Milo appeared from the living room and started towards Bucky, wagging his tail. Rogers looked mildly betrayed by the fact that his dog seemed to like his nightmare of a neighbor.

"Stay!" Rogers said sternly at Milo and the dog sat down and whined.

Bucky put his hands on his hips. "You poor little guy," he said to the dog. "Having such an uptight _prig_ for an owner."

"Stop calling me that," Rogers warned in a low voice. "If you had just cut your lawn in the first place - "

Bucky exploded. "FINE! You want me to cut my lawn? I'll cut my fucking lawn!" He about-faced and left Rogers on his porch looking a little shell-shocked.

It was only when Bucky got back inside his own house that he caught his reflection in the hall mirror and realized that he was still in just a towel. He was too angry to care though. Rogers was _infuriating_. The big, uppity, sexy idiot. Bucky ripped his towel off and threw it at the kitchen door, standing naked in his hallway.

Rogers wanted him to cut his lawn? _He'd cut his lawn_.

***

On Friday afternoon, Bucky waited at his living room window for Rogers to come home from work. Had he gone too far? He knew all of this was pretty childish, that he'd been a stubborn asshole (he wasn't going to tell Nat), but then Rogers had been just as bad from the beginning too. Bucky thought about Rogers cutting his tree and shook away the doubt, indignation rising in him yet again. He straightened up when he saw Rogers' car pulling into his driveway.

Rogers got out of his car and walked up to his house and Bucky waited. Sure enough, a few seconds later, Rogers was making his way to Bucky's house, his face bright red. Bucky walked through to the hallway to open the front door as Rogers thumped on it.

"Mr Rogers," Bucky said with a big innocent smile on his face. "What can I do for you?"

"You think you're really funny don't you?" Rogers fumed.

Bucky just shrugged. "But you should be happy. I cut my front lawn."

"I didn't ask you to pile the grass cuttings against my front door! Move them right now," Rogers said and pointed a shaky finger towards his house. Bucky had indeed piled the cut grass in a mound on Rogers' front porch against his door. He had borrowed a mower from the sweet old couple next door.

Bucky folded his arms. "No."

Rogers glared at him. "I was only ever trying to be polite."

"Well, you screwed that up big time, pal."

"Fine," Rogers said. His eyes were hard but when he spoke, Bucky could hear a tiny note of hurt. "I'll get rid of your grass but you were the one who made this personal. I don't want to have anything to do with you ever again. Don't talk to me. Do what you want with your tree and your lawn." He turned and walked away.

Bucky should have felt some sense of satisfaction at his little "victory" but as he closed his front door, he just felt guilty.

***

"You were right," he said on the phone that night.

Nat was chewing something. "About what?"

"Me being a prick."

"Oh, I know. That's why I called you one."

Bucky sighed. "I think Rogers hates me."

"Didn't he hate you to begin with?"

"I don't think so. He does now, though."

"Not that you care, right?" Nat said.

"Right," Bucky said weakly. "He was nothing but a pain in my ass."

"Just some uptight prig with a stick up his backside."

"Yeah," Bucky said, wondering why he wasn't feeling vindicated. "I don't need that in my life."

"You want to talk to Clint? He bought himself a new catcher's mitt and wants to blab about it." She was still angry with him, he could tell. She only ever tried to fob him off onto Clint when she was pissed off.

Bucky sighed. Nat had a way of making him see what an asshole he could be and he didn't like it. "Sure. I can talk about baseball."

***

On Saturday afternoon, Rogers was setting up a barbeque on his patio. Bucky had been gathering up laundry in his room to take downstairs and had glanced into Rogers' yard. He was lighting the coals on the grill, some food and drinks arranged neatly beside it on a small table. Bucky watched with interest. He'd get to finally see who could stand to hang out with a guy like Rogers. God forbid anyone should make a dent on his perfect backyard; maybe he'd make them sit in the house.

As the barbeque was heating up, Rogers started to throw a tennis ball for Milo and the dog bounded happily after it, bringing it back to Rogers' feet a few times and waiting patiently for him to throw it again.

 _Figures,_ Bucky thought to himself. _Even his dog is perfect_.

But after a few more throws, Milo started to pull back from Rogers when he reached for the ball, making him give chase. Bucky watched as the dog proceeded to run Rogers ragged around the yard, unwilling to give up his ball without a fight. Rogers laughed and it was deep and warm, easy in a way that Bucky had certainly never heard in his voice before. At one point, Rogers flopped facedown on the ground, unmoving. Bucky watched as Milo approached Rogers slowly, obviously confused. He whined a few times and tentatively moved towards his prone master. When Milo was a foot away, Rogers grabbed the dog and rolled with him on the grass. Milo squirmed out of his grip and then ran around Rogers, barking and wagging his tail. Rogers laughed again and kissed the dog on the head.

Bucky hadn't realized that he was smiling or that he'd been standing at his window watching the two of them for more than twenty minutes, his laundry still bundled in his arms. He shook his head and went downstairs to his utility room, trying to get the sound of Steve Rogers' laugh out of his head.

***

A few hours later, Bucky was getting ready to go out and meet a few guys from work for a beer or two. As he was pulling on his shirt, he glanced out of his window again. Rogers was sitting on his patio in a garden chair, alone, drinking a beer and gazing out onto his yard. There was a half-finished salad on the table and a plate, empty save for a few chicken bones. The barbeque smoked beside him and Milo was sleeping at his feet, stretched out in the late afternoon sunlight.

Bucky couldn't help the immediate feeling of pity that hit him: Rogers hadn't had anyone over for a barbeque. Who the hell had a barbeque on their own? He tried to gauge the look on Rogers' face but from here, he could only see part of his profile. Did he even have any friends? Maybe not. Maybe he was so uptight, nobody wanted to hang out with him.

"Serves him right," Bucky mumbled to himself but he wasn't sure how much he meant it.

***

Bucky's phone rang on Sunday morning just after breakfast. It was his sister, Becca.

They both lived on opposite sides of the country now - he in New England, Becca in San Francisco - and saw each other maybe twice a year, one of those times being at Christmas. Bucky dreaded having to go back to his childhood home in Indiana for the holidays; it always felt like a series of awkward exchanges between him and his parents who asked with barely hidden disinterest about his life until they could crow about Becca and her successes again. Becca would graciously try and change the subject and Bucky loved her for that, but their parents would almost forget about him and speak exclusively to her. It annoyed Becca no end and he felt bad for her. Sure, he got ignored most of the time but she would forever be hounded by their parents.

"Hey Squirt," he answered cheerfully. They didn't call each other too much these days. Becca's career was very demanding and she usually had more time for texting.

"Hey Buck," Becca said. She sounded a little odd, not the usual tired but chipper Becca Bucky was used to.

"How are things? How's the orchestra?"

"It's alright," she said, still subdued.

Bucky frowned a little. "Everything okay?" he asked.

Becca was quiet for a moment. "Yes," she finally said, a quiver in her voice.

Bucky was suddenly concerned, his Big Brother instincts taking over. This wasn't like Becca. Something was wrong. "Becca, what is it? Come on, Kid. You're scaring me."

There was another moment of silence and then Becca burst into tears. "I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I just..."

"Hey, hey. It's alright. Try and calm down for a sec and talk to me. Are you hurt? Are you in trouble?"

Becca continued to cry. "No, no..."

"Okay, cry as long as you need to. Get it all out." He sat down on the couch, jiggling his leg. This was totally out of character for his sister. He listened to her cry for a few moments, feeling totally helpless.

Becca's weeping finally started to ebb a little into hitching wet sniffles.

"Good to talk now?" Bucky said softly.

"I'm sorry, Buck." Becca took a deep breath. "I didn't intend to do this to."

"Don't apologize. What's wrong?"

Becca blew her nose. "I feel like I'm having a nervous breakdown. I'm so tired." She sounded exhausted. Becca was usually a powerhouse of energy and enthusiasm, feeding off of her creativity. Hearing her like this hurt Bucky more than he thought possible.

"What do you mean?"

"It's...everything. My music, the orchestra, trying to please everyone. I feel like I'm losing control of my life and I can't...I need a break. I just want to stop for a little while but I feel like I'll be letting everyone down if I do and I just can't..." She started to cry again.

Bucky felt anger rise in him. He knew this would happen at some point eventually; he always wondered how Becca didn't just crack under all the pressure their parents had put her under, the pressure she eventually piled upon herself to please. He couldn't believe that this hadn't happened sooner but now that it had, he was upset and heartbroken for his sister.

"Hey now," he said softly. "You are in total control of your life, Becca. You can stop, you can say no. You hear me?"

Becca sniffled. "I feel like I've reached the point where I can't. Mom and Dad are disappointed if I so much as fart wrong."

"That's bullshit," Bucky said sharply and he heard Becca suck in a breath. "Your life is _yours_ , you got me? Not Mom and Dad's, not anyone's. God, they really did a number on us."

"Mom and Dad?" Becca said.

"Yeah," Bucky snorted. "How do we both still feel like we're not good enough for them? I mean, me I can understand. I went out of my way to defy them at every turn but you? You're so talented and you've made something of your life. How are they _still_ not happy?" He made a frustrated noise. "Becca, you don't owe them anything. Not anymore."

Becca let out a deep breath. "I needed to hear that. Thank you, Buck."

"Do you need me to come to San Francisco? I can be on a plane this afternoon."

"Becca blew her nose and when she spoke next, he could hear a smile in her voice. "No, you don't have to do that."

"Becca, just say the word."

"I just needed to hear...to hear that I'm not being ungrateful or selfish. I'm not, am I?"

"Of course you're not. Jeez, Becs. You can't go on like this. If you need to stop for a little while and get your head together, you do it. It's your life, your health."

"I know. I'm just...I'm scared, Buck. I feel like I don't want to play the violin anymore."

Bucky was surprised at that. Even though their parents had always pushed Becca into playing, she was good, _really_ good and had always lost herself in her music. To think that she'd reached the point that she was starting to hate it was devastating.

"Then you do what's best for you," he said sadly. "Is that what you really want?"

"No," Becca said and she sounded so weary. "But I'm starting to resent it. If I carry on, I'll hate it and then I won't know what to do."

"Have you told anyone else about this?"

"No. Just you."

Bucky swallowed down a lump in his throat. He was glad that she had confided in him before anyone. No matter how crap their parents made them feel about themselves, they still had each other. "I'm glad you did."

"I've been asked to compose. I...I wrote a piece in the spring and it was used in a small concert. I've been asked to compose for an entire show. It might not be anything, it's still early days but...I think I want to do it. It's a year's work at least. It would mean giving up my chair in the symphony."

"Becca, that's fantastic! I know how much you always enjoyed writing your own music."

Yeah," Becca said and she sounded relieved. "It's a great opportunity. I haven't told Mom and Dad. I didn't even tell them about the smaller piece. I just wanted something that was _mine_ , you know?"

"You know I'll support you 100% on this."

"I know," Becca said gratefully. "That's why I wanted to talk to you first. I'm dreading telling them but I need this."

"You're thirty years old. I think you're more than entitled to make your own choices."

"I always envied you, you know that?" Becca said.

"Envied _me?_ " Bucky said, taken aback.

"Yes. You always fought back, you always knew your own mind with Mom and Dad. I just...gave in to what they wanted. For a long time, I tried to fool myself into believing it was what I wanted too but I often wonder what kind of life I would have now if I'd just stood up to them."

Bucky felt a terrible sadness overtake him; he had no idea that Becca had thought this way. "Oh Becca," he said. "You'd be a success even without Mom and Dad and believe me, what you have, _you've_ worked for, not them. I was a little shit. I couldn't stand the thought of them pushing me but who knows, maybe I'd have a much different life if I had given in to them."

"Do you resent me?" Becca asked quietly.

"What? No! Oh god Becs, of _course_ not. Jeez, you never made me feel like we were in competition. Not once. Have you been thinking that I _did_ resent you?"

"A little. I just thought...Mom and Dad were always so hard on you and it made me feel like it was because of me."

Bucky felt overwhelming love for his sister then. "Becca, I have never once been anything other than immensely proud of you, you hear me? I love you, Kid."

Becca burst into a fresh round of tears. "I love you too."

Bucky smiled. "You need to come and stay with me at some point. Check out my new place."

"That would be great," Becca said, her voice wet. "I always wanted to see the New England leaves in the Autumn."

Bucky thought of Steve Rogers when Becca mentioned the leaves. "Yeah, it's a sight."

"How is the new place?"

Bucky hummed. "It's good but I've been a bit of a dick to my new neighbor. Kind of got on his case when I didn't have to."

"Let me guess: He asked you to do something and it rubbed you up the wrong way?"

"How'd you guess?" Bucky said with a wry smile.

"I lived with you and Mom and Dad for eighteen years," Becca answered and he could hear some of her dry humor returning. "I have to go now but thanks for listening. I feel like I might have a better handle on things now."

"Any time. I mean that."

"Love you, Buck."

"Love you too, Becs."

Bucky sat thinking for a long time after Becca hung up.

***

Bucky and Steve Rogers didn't cross paths for a few days. Bucky had been thinking about apologizing but the stupidly stubborn part of him, as well as the part that didn't want to admit that he had been an asshole, held back.

On Thursday when he came back from work, Bucky was pulling his mail from his mailbox when Rogers returned home. He got out of his car and walked stiffly to his own mailbox, ignoring Bucky as he did.

Bucky tried to think about how he could go about _maybe_ apologizing without admitting that he had been totally in the wrong. He hadn't realized he had been staring at Rogers the whole time and blinked when he saw Rogers watching him with his piercing blue eyes.

"What?" Rogers said, frostily.

"Uh..."

Rogers waited but Bucky couldn't seem to get the words out. Rogers closed his mailbox with a pronounced _snap_ and left Bucky standing at the bottom of his driveway while he went inside his own house.

Bucky sighed and looked down at the mail clutched in his fist. "I'm a dick," he said to himself.

***

Saturday morning, Bucky got up early intending to go in to the office and catch up on some work for a few hours. He didn't mind too much; he could play his music as loud as he wanted and make a pot of his fancy coffee without anybody else stealing it. He was standing at the bottom of his driveway fiddling with his bag when he saw Rogers a ways up the street, returning from a jog, Milo trotting happily at his side.

Bucky squared his shoulders, fully intending to talk to Rogers this time and admit that he had maybe blown the whole tree cutting episode out of proportion.

But then everything went wrong in an instant.

An old man was walking his own dog on the other side of the street and it caught Milo's attention. He strained on his leash and it slipped from Rogers' hand. Bucky watched in horror as Milo darted into the road straight into the path of car.

Bucky caught the look of twisted terror on Rogers' face and he shouted out to the dog, hoping desperately that a miracle would happen. " _Milo_ _!_ "

Milo turned and started to head to Bucky, tail wagging, but it was too late; the car hit Milo and he squealed, rolling on the asphalt and then stopping, still and limp.

Bucky had time to hear Rogers's strangled cry as they both ran to the prone body.

The driver of the car got out shakily. "Oh my god! I didn't...I...he just ran out!"

Bucky quickly nodded. "I know, I saw it."

Rogers was sobbing, his hands over Milo but not touching, as if afraid to cause the dog more harm. "Oh Milo, oh buddy..." he wept and Bucky's heart broke.

He looked down at the little dog. Milo was alive, eyes opens, whimpering between breaths. Bucky could see that his left leg was definitely broken. The car had clipped him on his back end and there was probably more damage that he couldn't see. Had Bucky not shouted to him, he would certainly be dead. He had to act fast though. Rogers was beside himself.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, Rogers. Look, I need you to go into your house and get a blanket and your car keys, alright?"

It was like Rogers didn't hear him. He just kept stroking Milo's head, sobbing.

Bucky grabbed him by the shoulders and turned Rogers to face him. "Steve," he said sternly. "I need you to listen to me. Milo is hurt bad and he's going into shock. I need you to go into your house and grab a blanket and your car keys. He needs a vet _right now_. I need you to be strong for him, okay?"

Rogers' eyes were wet and red but he finally focussed on Bucky. "Okay." He leapt up and ran for the house.

The driver who had hit Milo watched from next to his car. "Oh god, I didn't mean to hit him. Is there anything I can do?"

Bucky comforted Milo as best he could. "Can you Google the closest veterinary clinic for me?"

Steve returned with a blanket carefully draping it over Milo. "Here we go, buddy. It'll be okay, you'll be okay..." he said softly to the dog, over and over.

The driver gave Bucky the address for the closest clinic and also his own number. "Please let me know if I can do anything. I want to pay the vet's bill. It's the least I can do."

Bucky nodded to the man gratefully and took Steve's car keys. "Pick him up as carefully as you can," he said and headed to Steve's car. "Get in the back seat."

Steve scooped Milo up as gently as he could, his face crumpling when the dog squealed in pain. "I got you, buddy. I got you," he said brokenly. He only registered what Bucky was doing when he got to his car. "You're driving? But my insurance..."

"There's no time for that, just get him in the car," Bucky said and got into the driver's seat. Steve nodded and climbed into the back, laying Milo on his lap.

Bucky pulled out of Steve's driveway and drove towards the clinic as fast as he dared.

***

Milo was taken straight away when they arrived for which Bucky was eternally thankful. Steve started to follow the veterinary nurses down the corridor but then turned back to Bucky, his face vulnerable and he looked like he was trying to say something but couldn't quite manage it.

"I'll wait right here," Bucky said and Steve nodded.

When Steve was out of sight, Bucky slumped into one of the chairs in the reception area and let out a huge breath, resting his head in his hands. This was not how he had thought this morning would go. He remembered his work bag and wondered if he'd left it lying on the sidewalk or if he'd put it in Steve's car. His body was shaking with adrenaline and he got up and chugged down a few paper cups worth of water from the water cooler by the window. He sat back down and waited.

After forty minutes, Steve returned. He looked completely spent, his face slack and shoulders slumped. Bucky's stomach twisted as he stood.

"Is he okay?"

Steve looked up at him and blinked, as if he hadn't really expected Bucky to still be here. He ran a hand through his short blond hair. "Both of his legs are broken and his pelvis is fractured. It could have been a lot worse but the shock...the shock was bad. They're taking him into surgery now." He flopped down heavily in the chair next to Bucky's.

Bucky got him a cup of water and sat next to him, handing him the cup. Steve swallowed it, his hands trembling.

"So we just wait?" Bucky asked.

Steve met Bucky's eyes and he looked very young and scared, not stiff and businesslike the way he had been the last couple of months. "You don't have to stay," he said.

"Do you _want_ me to stay?" Bucky asked.

Steve looked down at his hands. "Yes," he replied softly.

Bucky patted him on the shoulder which made Steve jump a little. "Then I'll stay. There's a coffee place a few doors down; I'll get us something." He left before Steve could say another word.

Bucky got them both a huge latte and an espresso each; he figured they could use it. He also bought a couple of slices of chocolate cake.

"Here," he said to Steve when he returned to the waiting room, handing him one of the lattes.

Steve leaned forward and wrapped his hands around the paper cup. "Thank you." His voice was quiet and sombre.

Bucky felt utterly useless. "He's in good hands."

Steve just nodded and stared down at his coffee.

Bucky offered him some cake but Steve declined. Bucky sat back in his seat and ate his own, watching the tense set of Steve's shoulders. He couldn't help but feel really bad for the guy; he could see how much he loved Milo and Bucky himself would be devastated if anything happened to the little Cocker Spaniel. All he could do for now was give Steve some support.

***

After four hours of waiting, a doctor finally came into the waiting room. "Milo Rogers?"

Steve bolted up from his seat. "I'm his owner."

Bucky stood up too. He'd had way too much coffee, making another two trips to the coffee shop as they had waited, each hour that passed seeming to make things bleaker and bleaker.

"I'm Doctor Bishop. Milo is stable; his right leg suffered a tibia break and in his left his femur was splintered and required metal pins to hold the bone together. His pelvis wasn't damaged as badly as we thought but there's a high risk of infection so we'd like to keep him in for a few days. I won't lie: The next twelve hours could go either way. We did the best we could and there's every chance that he'll be fine but there's also a chance that the shock was too much for him." She looked genuinely sorry. "Just be prepared, Mr Rogers."

Steve's eyes filled with tears. "Can I see him?"

Doctor Bishop smiled. "Sure. I'll take you through."

Bucky waited while Steve followed the doctor, silently praying that Milo would be okay.

Steve came back and he looked completely done in. "He's asleep." He twisted his hands together. "Thank you for waiting with me. I...there wasn't really anyone else I could call."

"It's no hassle," Bucky said. "You look exhausted; let me take you home. There's nothing else we can do here. Just let Milo rest."

Steve nodded and they both walked out to the car. He didn't say anything when Bucky got into the driver's seat, just sank into the passenger's side and leaned his head against the window. They drove back to their street in silence. Bucky parked in Steve's driveway and followed Steve up to the house. He didn't really want to run off and leave the guy, not until he knew that he'd be okay.

Steve unlocked his front door and stepped inside, he knocked the inside of the door frame six times with his fist and Bucky frowned in confusion but just followed Steve inside, taking off his shoes when Steve did. Steve's house was insanely clean and tidy; it looked like a show home. Nothing looked out of place except for Bucky. He glanced around at the bookcases in the living room; everything was arranged neatly in alphabetical order, books and DVDs. The wooden floors were immaculate. Bucky thought he'd be surprised to find a dust bunny anywhere, let alone any of Milo's dog hair.

Steve sank onto the couch; he was still trembling a little. Bucky shifted on his feet for a moment.

"Have you eaten at all today?" Bucky asked.

Steve shook his head. "No, I was going to have breakfast when we...we got back from our walk."

"I'll make you something."

"No, you don't have to. I'm not hungry."

"You need something to eat," Bucky insisted. "You've had a rough morning, I know, but you need to try and have some food. Can I use your kitchen?"

Steve's face softened a little. "Sure."

The kitchen was even tidier than everything else. Bucky suddenly felt like a complete slob thinking about the pile of dishes waiting on his counter and the not-so-clean floor. He opened one of Steve's kitchen cupboards; all of the tinned food was outward facing and symmetrical. Anything boxed was arranged in size order. Realization started to dawn on Bucky then. He closed the cupboard and checked the fridge; everything was arranged meticulously. He thought about the morning he had seen Steve putting rose leaves into a baggy, how he had knocked on his doorframe when they had come into the house.

He was chopping some onions and mushrooms when Steve walked into the kitchen, his hands tucked under his armpits. "Need any help?" he asked quietly.

"No. Just sit down and rest. You like omelettes?"

Steve nodded. "I'll make us some coffee."

"I've had so much coffee this morning I feel like I might vibrate into another dimension but I won't say no to another cup," Bucky said with a little smile.

Steve set about making the coffee and Bucky cooked them breakfast. He found some sourdough bread and made them toast and they sat and ate quietly at the kitchen table. As soon as Steve started to eat, Bucky could see that he realized how hungry he was. He wolfed down the toast and omelette and began to appear a little more alert.

"Thank you," Steve said when he was done and fiddled nervously with his mug. "For everything. If you hadn't had called out to Milo when he ran out into the road, I don't know...things might have been worse."

"I just wish I could have done more," Bucky said.

They sat in a heavy silence and Bucky was aware of everything that had happened between them up until now and it all seemed so petty. He was about to finally apologize when Steve spoke first.

"I owe you so many apologies," he said, his voice subdued.

"I owe you just as many," Bucky said quickly. "I'm sorry for being such a dick. You were right; you were only ever just trying to be polite."

Steve shook his head, staring down at the table. "I don't think I was. I keep thinking back to that first day we met and I could have been a little less...pushy."

Bucky tapped the table lightly with one finger. "You have OCD, don't you?"

Steve's head snapped up and his cheeks flushed. "I...is it that obvious?"

"No. Not until you knocked on the inside of your door when we came in. Someone I know used to do something similar. Kind of like a little ritual whenever they went into and out of a room. Everything else kind of started to make sense after that."

Steve rubbed his eyes with one hand. "I didn't give it a thought. It's kind of automatic."

"I'm not judging you," Bucky said, pushing some crumbs about on his plate.

"The people who lived in your house before you, we had an arrangement about the lawn and the tree in the backyard that started when I was going through a really tough spot; they were very understanding and I guess I thought it could be the same when you moved in but I screwed it up. It was all part of my routine and it just...I shouldn't have tried to force it on you. Maybe I should have said something, I don't know. You don't exactly go over to the new neighbor and open with _Hi_ _there, I have OCD and need you to cut your lawn and tree otherwise I won't sleep tonight_."

Bucky leaned back in his chair. "Seems like it was a no win situation for you either way and I didn't make it any easier. I could have been less than a dick. I have...issues with people telling me to do things. Sorry I took it out on you."

"It's okay," Steve said.

"I guess we both could've made better first impressions," Bucky said. "I'm just sorry we got to this because of Milo getting hurt."

"Me too," Steve replied softly. He blew out a breath and looked at the breakfast things. "I'll clear the dishes."

"You go and sit down. I'll do it."

Steve rubbed his face with his hands. "Thank you. I appreciate this."

"Is there any particular way you want me to..." Bucky started. He wanted to ask how bad Steve's OCD was but figured it wasn't his place to ask.

Steve smiled a little. "No, on the drainer is fine." He walked through to the living room while Bucky gathered everything and took it all over to the sink.

He washed everything carefully and thoroughly and left it all neatly on the drainer. He wiped down the counter top and the kitchen table and made sure everything was in its rightful place. Bucky poured them both another cup of coffee and went through to the living room.

Steve was asleep on the couch, his head lolling on the armrest. He finally looked relaxed and Bucky watched him for a moment. He suddenly didn't want to leave Steve to wake up on his own, especially if the vet rang. There was an afghan over by the window seat and Bucky carefully draped it over Steve before grabbing a book from the bookshelf and settling in one of the armchairs.

***

Bucky was jolted awake by a phone ringing. He had fallen asleep in the armchair and his neck was killing him but he sat up. It was dark outside and he blinked into Steve's living room. There was a lamp on and Steve wasn't on the couch but Bucky heard frantic footsteps descending the stairs and Steve ran into the living room, to snatch up his phone.

"It's the vet," he said in a choked voice as his cell continued to ring.

Bucky didn't want to tell him it would be okay because there was still a chance it wouldn't be so he stood and stepped over to Steve, putting a hand on his shoulder. Steve swallowed and answered.

"Hello? Yes, this is Steve Rogers. Yes."

Bucky couldn't hear much but held his breath.

Steve closed his eyes and gripped the phone tighter. "Oh, thank God. Yes. Yes, that's fine. I...thank you so much. I will. Good-bye." He hung up and turned to Bucky. "He woke up and had some food and seems chipper but still tired. They think he'll pull through okay."

Bucky woofed out his held breath. "Oh, thank fuck for that. I'm really glad, Steve."

Steve still looked exhausted but he smiled a real smile. Bucky hadn't really seen one from him yet and it transformed his whole face. Bucky thought he could stand to see it a bit more often.

"I need a beer. You want one?" Steve asked and walked through into the kitchen.

Bucky dropped back down onto the armchair and closed the book he had been skimming before he had fallen asleep. "That would be great."

Steve returned and handed him a bottle and sat back down on the couch next to the afghan which had been folded neatly. "Thanks for staying," Steve said a little shyly.

"It was no problem. I can leave after this, get out of your hair."

"It's okay," Steve answered, a little quickly. "I mean, if you want. I've taken up far too much of your time already."

Bucky swigged his beer. "Again, it's no hassle."

"It's...I have friends. They just live a ways away. It seemed silly to call them because of...because of a dog."

"It's not silly and he's not just a dog to you."

Steve's face pinched. "He really isn't."

"How long have you had him?" Bucky asked.

"Five years. I was...things were rough and my therapist suggested that a dog might help." He twisted his beer bottle in his hands.

"For your OCD?"

Steve nodded. "Things were pretty bad before I got Milo. I was always an anxious kid and when my mom died when I was twelve, the OCD became worse. I was in foster homes for most of my childhood and..." He stopped and his face tightened. "I'm sorry. You don't need to hear this."

Bucky leaned forward on his knees. "I want to," he said and Steve's face softened again.

"When Mom died, it was like everything spiralled out of control; my life was in the hands of everyone else. I'd always had these little...rituals? You put it best when you said that. Some days I would be stuck in these loops of doing things and it would make me late for school and my grades dropped. No-one diagnosed it; it was always just attributed to my mom and my anxiety. It was hell some days; it's like your brain just won't let you rest until you've washed your hands sixty-seven times or turned the lights off an even number. Just doing things because if you do them enough times, you're convinced it'll stop something bad from happening. That's what it used to be like and then in college, someone finally noticed and I saw a doctor and got medication. It helped a lot."

Bucky didn't say anything, just waited for Steve to continue.

"I managed it for a long while and then about six years ago it got really bad again. I'd spend nearly all day in a loop over really silly things that seemed important and the medication wasn't helping. _Everything_ in the house and garden had to be perfect, nothing out of place, everything in order. I'd spend hours cleaning the same mug over and over. I felt...it was like I wasn't in control of my brain but...if I did what it wanted me to do then I had _some_ control, things might change on the next set of even-numbered crunches. But then I'd lose so much time and it was like my life wasn't my own again. My therapist suggested a dog because then if I had something that I needed to take care of, that I _couldn't_ control, it would focus my attention away from the noise in my brain."

He smiled then. "I was terrified the first day I got Milo. He was so small. I thought _how could I possibly take care of this little guy?_ But then he fell asleep in my lap and I knew I'd do anything for him and...it helped. I mean, I'm still working on things and I don't think it'll ever go away, not completely, but I have a good degree of control again."

"I had no idea," Bucky said and he felt even more guilty for having given Steve a hard time. "I can't imagine how difficult things must have been for you."

"How were you to know? I just came across as a prig."

Bucky sighed and tucked his hair behind his ear. "I'm sorry I called you that."

"It's alright."

"I'm also sorry that I came to your door in nothing but a towel," Bucky said with a grin.

He was pleased to see that Steve went a little pink. "Yeah, that was...interesting. I like your tattoos."

"Thanks. They kind of started out as a teenage rebellion thing but I started to like getting them. Hence the sleeves."

Steve leaned forward. "Which one was your first?"

Bucky chuffed and lifted his tee sleeve. "Howling wolf. Nice and tacky, right? I could slap seventeen year-old me."

Steve laughed softly. "I might have you beat there."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. " _You_ have a tattoo?"

Steve sighed and stood up. "I can't believe I'm about to show you this." He lifted up his t-shirt and showed Bucky the tattoo on his right side.

"Oh my God," Bucky burst out laughing. "A flaming skull? You win."

"A moment of regret in my twenties," Steve said and sat back down.

"I think most people with tattoos have at least one they regret."

"So was the wolf a Screw You to someone?" Steve asked.

"Uh-huh," Bucky said, downing the rest of his beer. "My parents. They kind of wanted my sister and I to be what _they_ wanted us to be. Didn't sit so well with me and I did everything in my power to disappoint and annoy them. They eventually got the message. We don't talk much anymore."

"And your sister?"

Bucky smiled fondly. "I love her more than anything." His smile slipped a little. "I think all these years of living out our parents' dreams have finally ground her down though. She's not doing so great."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Steve said quietly.

"Me too," Bucky said. He looked over at Steve's immaculate bookcases. "I'll never forgive them for that. Becca only ever wanted to please them but...I often wonder if it's _my_ fault that she tried so hard, just because I didn't." He clenched his jaw. "My parents wanted us to be perfect but I think being perfect is subjective."

"I agree," Steve said and he was looking at Bucky with understanding. "My OCD tried to make me believe that everything in my life had to be perfect. It's unrealistic to think that anyone can achieve perfection, especially someone else's idea of it."

Bucky was struck by that. If only his parents thought that way. He suddenly felt the weight of the day pressing on him and wanted his bed.

"I should get going. It's late," Bucky said and stood up.

Steve walked him to the door. "I can't thank you enough for everything you've done, Mr Barnes."

"Please call me Bucky. I think after showing each other our embarrassing tattoos we can move on to a first name basis." He turned when he was out of the door and gave Steve a smile.

Steve smiled back. "You know, you're not the person I thought you were."

Bucky was a little surprised by the statement. "Should I ask?"

"You're very kind," Steve said and that strange shyness crossed his face again.

"I...just wanted to help," Bucky said. "Will you let me know how Milo is?"

"I will. Thank you, Bucky."

Bucky walked back to his house and leaned against his front door when he was inside, tired and overwhelmed and surprised by the day.

Surprised because Steve Rogers wasn't the person Bucky had thought he was either.

***

"Are you still mad at me?" Bucky said into the phone on his lunch break on Monday morning. He was alone outside of his office smoking a cigarette.

"Am I mad at you?"

"Nat..." Bucky wasn't in the mood for Nat's games.

"No, I'm not mad at you," Nat said. "I have to warn you though - I'm not really in the mood for anymore neighbor stories."

Bucky blew smoke out of his nose. " Are you sure? There's been a development." He recounted Saturday's incident.

"Well well. So he's not the stuck-up asshole you assumed he was," Nat said. He could almost _hear_ her smug raised eyebrow.

"I guess not," Bucky said. "I'll admit, I judged him too harshly. But _you_ have to admit too that he _did_ come across as a control freak at the start."

"Only if _you_ admit that as soon as anyone asks you to do _anything_ , you turn into this raging idiot."

Bucky scrunched up his mouth. "Fine, I'll admit it but you know why I act like that."

"You can't let your issues with your folks effect everything else. You'll just drive people away."

"I haven't driven you and Clint away," Bucky said with a smirk.

Nat snorted. "I still haven't decided if that's a good or a bad thing. So how's the dog?"

"I don't know. I didn't see Steve yesterday."

"Oh, he's _Steve_ now," Nat said, amused.

"Yeah, laugh it up. He's...he's actually kind of nice."

"And to think, all it took was for you actually not being a dick to him to see it."

"Hey, he had to not be a dick to me too."

Nat groaned. "Whatever. Clint wants to talk to you about taking a trip in the fall to New York. He misses you."

"Cool. I love you, Nat."

"I love you too, against my better judgement," she said.

***

Bucky didn't see Steve at all for the next couple of days, not even in passing. He made sure to go and check his mail around the time Steve usually got back from work but he never caught him. He considered going over to see how Milo was doing but he felt like he would be intruding.

On Thursday evening, he had just finished washing up his dinner things when the doorbell rang. He answered it and Steve was standing on his porch.

"Steve, hi," Bucky said with a pleased smile. He could almost hear Nat laughing at him.

Steve smiled back. "Hi Bucky. I'm sorry I haven't been in touch; Milo was released from hospital the other day and I took some time off of work to care for him. He's asleep now so I thought I would just come see you for a minute."

"So he's alright?"

"Feeling a bit sorry for himself but he's wagging his tail and trying to chew my sneakers so I'm taking that as a good sign," Steve said.

Bucky laughed. "That's great. I'm really glad."

Steve looked down and then awkwardly held up a bunch of flowers that Bucky hadn't noticed him holding. "I, uh, thank you for everything you did. I don't know how to repay you. You saved Milo's life."

Bucky took the flowers. They were roses from Steve's front garden. They were perfect, red and waxy. "You already thanked me," he said softly.

Steve met his eyes and Bucky suddenly wondered how he could have thought that this guy was an asshole. "If Milo had died, I don't know what..." he shook his head. "Thank you, Bucky."

"You're welcome," Bucky said quietly. "Thank you for the flowers. They're beautiful."

Steve kind of frowned and shrugged. "I know it's not a lot..."

"Steve, they're beautiful," Bucky said again.

Steve looked up at him and smiled. "I'm glad you like them." He shifted on Bucky's porch. "I'd better get back to Milo." He gave an gawky little wave and walked back to his own house.

Bucky closed his front door, holding the perfect roses in front of him. He thought about Steve's awkwardness, the softness and vulnerability that lay behind the rigid mask of control.

"Shit," he said, knocking his forehead against the door.

_***_

"I'm in trouble," Bucky said that evening on the phone. He was sprawled on his bed, fresh from the shower.

Nat sighed. "I Need To Leave The Country trouble or I'm Being Overly Dramatic trouble."

"The second one."

"Whenever you're ready," Nat prompted.

"It's Steve from next door," Bucky said.

"Okay."

"He's really nice."

"Uh-huh."

"And...really sweet."

"Go on."

"Don't make me say it."

"James, why do you even bother calling me?" Nat said. He heard her crunching something.

Bucky threw his arm over his eyes. "I was wrong about him and I like him," he groaned.

"There you go," Nat crooned, patronisingly.

"You're loving this, aren't you?" Bucky groaned.

"Your utter predictability and unwillingness to admit that I've been right about you and your idiocy towards your hot neighbor all along? Yes. Yes, I am."

Bucky threw out a few Russian insults that Nat had taught him.

"So," she said and Bucky could hear her getting herself comfortable. "What now?"

Bucky rolled over and threw his wet towel on the floor. "Without things getting weird? I don't know."

"Things are already weird. Just ask him out."

Bucky swiped his wet hair out of his face. "It's... more complicated than that."

"With you it always is," Nat chuffed. 

***

But it _was_ complicated. He didn't really have any kind of relationship with Steve beyond Now Being Friendly Neighbors and Bucky wasn't totally sure how to make it into anything more. Of course, that may have been Bucky thinking too hard about everything now; if he could kick himself in the ass, he would.

The Summer was drawing to a close and Autumn was fast approaching. Bucky looked out into his backyard one morning, frowning over his mug of coffee. He wasn't what most people would call _hands on_ when it came to house or yard maintenance (the last few weeks being a case in point) but he really should tidy it up before the Winter; he needed to clear the nettle patch which had doubled in size and the fence really needed to be painted. He groaned to himself. He'd rather not spend his Saturday painting a damned fence but if he didn't do it now, he would be paying for it in the Winter.

Bucky had a few garden tools and luckily the previous owners had left some paint behind. He thought there would be enough to cover the entire fence and changed into some old jeans and a grey t-shirt, shoving his cigarettes into his back pocket.

Forty-five minutes later, Bucky was cursing at the nettle patch as he tried to yank a particularly large root out of the ground. "Mother _fucker_ ," he hissed and almost fell over backwards as the plant finally gave. He threw it on the ground. "Ugh, this was such a bad idea."

"Okay over there?"

Bucky looked up. Steve was looking over the fence from his yard. Bucky wiped his forehead, trying not to visibly brighten and totally give himself away. "Hey. Yeah, just trying to clear my yard before the winter. How's Milo?"

Steve smiled. "He's doing good. You should see how fast he can move in his casts."

Bucky smiled back. "I'm really glad he's okay."

"You need a hand?" Steve pointed to the still substantial nettle patch.

Bucky almost said no but this could be the chance he was looking for to get to know Steve a little better. "You know what, sure. Many hands, light work. Think you've got it in you to help paint a fence too?"

Steve grinned. "Sure. Just give me a sec and I'll change. Is it okay if I bring Milo? He won't get in the way."

"The more the merrier."

Steve disappeared and Bucky walked back to the house and quickly checked himself in the hallway mirror. He knew he wouldn't look all that great after a day of yard work but he could at least try to pull off some kind of sexy outdoorsman.

He answered the front door when Steve knocked. He was wearing a faded blue Boston University t-shirt and a pair of paint splattered jeans with some gloves hanging from the pocket. As always, his hair was neatly styled and he held Milo in his arms. The little Cocker Spaniel was wearing a neck cone and pretty much his entire bottom half was in a cast.

"Aw dude," Bucky said and scratched Milo behind the ears. "Look at you." Milo leaned into Bucky's hand and chuffed.

"He's doing okay. I think he's actually learned how to make extra pathetic faces so I'll give him more attention," Steve said.

Bucky laughed and let them in. "I thought we could see how we get after a few hours then stop for lunch?"

Steve followed Bucky through to the yard. "Sounds good to me." He put Milo down carefully on the patio and the dog immediately started to sniff around the table and chairs.

"Take it easy, buddy," Steve said as Milo started to drag a garden chair along as it got caught on his cast.

Bucky ducked back into the house and grabbed one of the couch cushions. He also filled a bowl with water and brought it back out with him, setting them both on the patio. It was totally worth it for Steve's grateful smile.

"Thanks. Here Milo," he gently picked up the dog and set him on the couch cushion. Milo sniffed that too then settled down. Bucky patted him on head.

"Okay, so where do you want to start?" Steve said.

They spent an hour clearing the rest of the nettles and shoving them into garbage bags before making a start on the fence. Steve started at one side of the yard and Bucky at the other and they would hopefully meet in middle, if there was enough paint. They chatted constantly and Bucky wished like hell that they'd gotten off on the right foot from the start. Steve was insanely pleasant; Bucky found out that he was an art dealer, working at his friend Sam's gallery in the city. Although he was very modest, he was obviously very good at it having curated some shows by artists that even Bucky had heard of. He was originally from New York and still visited as often as work would allow him. He was a sucker for chicken wings, buying more books than he had time to read and was a huge Gene Kelly fan.

"Really?" Bucky asked, smirking over his shoulder.

"Trust me, the man was a genius. No-one else had moves like him. Also, he had a _great_ ass." He sighed wistfully.

Bucky barked out a laugh. Okay, so at least they were on the same page. "Well, now I'll _have_ to watch one of his movies."

Steve turned back to the fence. "I have them all if you ever wanted to, you know, come over one evening, have a few beers."

"Alcohol and musicals? Sounds perfect." He tried to hide a grin as he saw the back of Steve's neck turn red.

They stopped for a break after a while, Milo wagging his tail constantly and shuffling around in his cast as Bucky made them huge sandwiches and placed them on the patio table with dill pickles, potato chips and a couple of beers.

"Thanks," Steve said and clinked his beer bottle against Bucky's.

"So how's things?" Bucky asked after a while. By things, he meant Steve's OCD.

Steve seemed to get what Bucky was asking. "Good days and bad days. Today's a good day. I've uh, I started Cognitive Behavioural Therapy a few weeks ago and it's really starting to help." He stared down at his sandwich.

"That's awesome. I've got a friend who swears by CBT."

"Oh yeah?" Steve glanced up, interested and a little relieved.

"Yeah," Bucky took a swig of beer. "Clint's had a hard life, without going into it too much, and he said that while medication takes the edge off of his anxiety, the CBT helps him get his head around things, think things through. Like he's in control of his brain and getting rid of a lot of the noise."

Steve brightened. "That's totally it. It's hard, don't get me wrong but yeah; I kind of feel like I have some control back. Not every day, but enough to make me feel like I won't be dictated by my OCD."

They sat in compensable silence for a few moments. Milo was snoozing contentedly on the couch cushion.

Bucky tapped the table with his beer bottle. "I'm glad we're...well, are we friends? I don't know. I'm glad we're whatever this is now." He winced a little at how dumb he sounded.

"We can be friends," Steve said with a grin that made Bucky's cold, dead heart beat a little more frantically. "I'd like it if we were friends."

Bucky didn't have many friends. Sure, he had Nat and Clint but they lived in Chicago. He had a few acquaintances at work but he wasn't very social with them outside of the office. He was attracted to Steve, he wasn't going to deny that but he could really use a friend.

"I'd like that," he said softly.

Steve smiled a crooked little smile and rubbed the back of his neck. "Come on. I bet we can finish this fence before dark."

The afternoon was cool and pleasant and Bucky Barnes never thought he would ever enjoy painting a damn fence so much.

***

Now they were friends, they couldn't seem to stop bumping into each other before or after work. There was little excuse needed to drop by for a beer or join each other for a run (Bucky could only manage the one, cursing being a smoker the whole way. At least he'd been able to stare at Steve's butt for the most part). Bucky thought that this was what having a neighbor should be like. Steve seemed to grow more attractive each time Bucky saw him; his smiles were easy and genuine and he was a stupidly nice person. Life seemed a little better for a while.

Bucky was just finishing up a dinner of Chinese take-out one Friday evening when his cell phone rang. He groaned when he saw the screen. It was his mother. He could have ignored it but he hadn't actually spoken to his folks for a month at least. Bucky sat up and steeled himself.

"Hey, Mom," he said cheerfully.

"James, do you know about this nonsense with Rebecca? We just had a very upsetting phone call with her," his mother sounded furious and Bucky knew that Becca had finally told them about her plans.

"I'm well, Mom. How are you?"

"I don't have time for your sarcasm right now," she replied angrily. "You encouraged this, didn't you?"

Bucky saw red. He would always be to blame for anything that went against their grand plans. "Mom, Becca is a grown-ass woman and she can do whatever the hell she wants. Yes, she spoke to me and yes, I fully support her in whatever she wants to do. Call me crazy, but I'd rather my sister was happy and not running headlong into a nervous fucking breakdown because she can't live up to your and Dad's ridiculous standards." He was breathing heavily, his heart beating a mile a minute.

"How dare you," his mother said, her voice low. "How..." There was a shuffling noise and Bucky knew she was passing him over to his father.

"James, what is the meaning of this?" Bucky suddenly felt fourteen years old again, standing before his parents after having failed his math test, sobbing as quietly as he could whilst they lectured him on his wasted potential, feeling utterly worthless.

"Apparently, I'm ruining your and Mom's lives by supporting my sister in living independently and pursuing her own ambitions. Story of my fucking life."

"Do not use that language with me," his father hissed. "Who do you think you are, sabotaging your sister's career just to get back at your mother and I - "

Bucky exploded. "Do you even give a shit about Becca? She's depressed and upset and finally wants to do something for herself. Who gives a _shit_ what you and Mom want. You've controlled her life for all these years, just leave her the fuck alone and let her live it the way she wants!"

"This is the last straw," his father spluttered. "You've gone too far this time."

"Apparently I haven't gone far enough! I moved from Indiana to New England and I'm still wrecking the Barnes family. You know what, don't call me, I'll call you."

"James - " But Bucky hung up, throwing his phone across the room where it hit the wall with a clatter but thankfully didn't break. He was shaking and tears pricked his eyes. How could they still reduce him to this? They had always made him feel like shit.

Bucky went to his fridge and opened it so hard, everything inside rattled. His grabbed the six-pack he had bought earlier and then stormed through the house and out of the front door. It was getting dark. There were light on in Steve's house. He knocked on the door and waited.

When Steve answered a few minutes later, all of the anger and frustration drained out of Bucky. Steve's face was pale. He had dark circles under his eyes and everything about him was tense.

"Hey," Bucky said. "Is everything alright?"

Steve shook his head and huffed out a few shaky breaths. "Bad day," he said. He held up his hands. They were red raw, starting to chap badly at the knuckles and they were shaking slightly.

"What happened?" Bucky said, unable to keep the dismay out of his voice.

Steve rubbed them together. "I got...caught in a loop. Couldn't stop washing them."

Bucky put the six-pack under his arm and stepped forward, taking Steve's left hand gently in both of his. Steve stiffened a little. "Jeez, Steve," Bucky said quietly. "Do you have any lotion?"

Steve nodded. He looked exhausted.

"How about I come in, we have a couple of beers, watch a Gene Kelly movie and I take care of these for you?"

Steve swallowed but nodded again. He let Bucky in and Milo hobbled out of the living room, wagging his tail.

"Hey Milo," Bucky said and led Steve to the living room. "Where's your lotion?"

"In the bathroom," Steve said softly, looking at his sore hands.

Bucky took two of the beers and handed them to Steve. "Hold these. They're nice and cold. I'll be right back."

He left Steve with Milo and went upstairs. He had never been on the second floor of Steve's house but it was the same layout as his and he found the bathroom at the end of the hall. The sink was full of partially used bars of soap. Bucky eyed them sadly and then scooped them all into the trash. He wiped the sink down with some toilet paper, flushed it and opened Steve's bathroom cabinet. Everything was in size order, front facing. He found a bottle of hand lotion and went back downstairs.

"So what movie shall we watch?" he asked, taking the bottles of beer gently out of Steve's hands and opening them.

Steve flexed his fingers and winced in pain. "An American In Paris?"

"Sounds good to me." Bucky found the DVD on Steve's shelf and loaded up the DVD player. When the movie started, Bucky shuffled next to Steve and squirted some lotion onto his hands. "Here," he said, indicating for Steve to reach over.

"You don't have to do this," Steve said quietly.

"I know," Bucky replied and started to gently rub the lotion onto Steve's raw right hand. "I had a bad phone call before I came here. This will help me take my mind off of it."

The movie was easy to watch; Bucky forgot how comforting old films from the 40s and 50s could be, especially musicals. He continued to rub Steve's hands, gently working in the lotion and gradually felt him start to relax. Steve had nice hands; they were big with neat clipped nails. Bucky tried not to think how they would feel touching him. Then he thought about how oddly intimate this was and started to feel a little self-conscious. If Steve thought the same, he wasn't showing it.

"What was your bad phone call?" Steve asked after a little while. He was watching Bucky.

Bucky blew his hair out of his eyes. "My sister has made some life choices that my parents don't agree with. Naturally, they blame me."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Steve said.

Bucky shrugged. "It was inevitable." He held Steve's hands. "Better?"

Steve bit his lip. "Yes." He pulled his hands away and flexed his fingers again. "Thank you, Bucky."

"You're welcome," Bucky said and sat back on Steve's couch, his knee touching Steve's. Steve didn't move away so neither did he and they sipped their beers and watched the movie.

"You were right about Gene Kelly's ass," Bucky said after a little while.

Steve finally smiled.

***

After that evening something changed between them, Bucky could feel it. Whenever Steve greeted him his smile was a little shyer. He would stand and talk to Bucky for longer.

"How's it going with Mr Hot Neighbor?" Clint asked him over the phone. Even though it hadn't broken when Bucky had thrown it at the wall that time, it wasn't working right and Clint's voice kept changing volume.

"It would be going well if I just thought he was hot and I wanted to try and get him into bed but..."

"But?" Clint said and he sounded oddly excited.

"He's hot but I also want to go out to dinner with him and cuddle him in front of a movie and buy antiques with him."

Clint laughed. "So do it! Buy an ottoman and embrace him upon it." Bucky heard Nat snorting in the background.

"I'm trying to gauge if he actually likes me. We started off badly and I don't want to presume anything."

"Enemies to lovers. Classic," Clint said.

Bucky huffed impatiently. "You're no help."

"What help do you need? You like him, he likes you. Bing bang boom."

"Sometimes I'm glad we live so far away from each other."

"No, you're not."

***

The leaves were finally starting to fall off of the trees and autumn had begun. Summer was still clinging on desperately, with a few hot days still making themselves known. Bucky was mowing his front yard one Saturday afternoon and humming to himself when Steve waved from over the fence. Bucky stopped and waved back. Steve was wearing a stupidly tight black tee that highlighted how blond he was and also how built he was. It was that smile though; that stupid sweet sincere smile, the raw honesty that Steve exuded that kind of did more for Bucky.

"You're mowing your lawn," Steve said with a grin, resting his hands on his hips.

Bucky grinned back. "I wouldn't want to let the neighborhood down now, would I?"

"I was thinking of getting in one more barbeque before the weather turns. Want in?"

Bucky tucked his hair behind his ear. "Meat and beer? Who would turn that down? I've got a couple of steaks in the freezer."

"A man after my own heart. Come over at about five?"

Bucky saluted. "I'll be there."

Steve smiled again and walked back into his house. Bucky finished mowing his lawn as quickly as he could so he go could shower and dig out the steaks.

***

"How do you like yours cooked?" Steve asked as he stoked the coals on the grill. Bucky was leaning against Steve's garden table swigging a beer.

"Medium-rare, please."

Steve glanced over his shoulder with an approving look. "Good man."

"Kind of a waste of a steak if you burn it to a crisp."

Steve chuckled. "My friend Sam is a vegetarian. He tried to convince us all the forego steaks for nut cutlets one time at a barbeque. Needless to say us, they didn't win us over. To each their own but don't try and take my steaks away from me."

Bucky laughed and watched as Milo sniffed around the garden at the few leaves that had already fallen. Bucky chuffed a little thinking about the whole thing with Steve and his tree.

Steve turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

"Just thinking about what an idiot I am. Do you want me to season and wrap those corn cobs?"

"Please," Steve said.

They cooked and talked, mostly about work and movies. The evening was pleasant and they sat outside until the shadows grew long and Milo couldn't find any more sun patches to lie in. They tidied away everything in the garden and Steve shooed away Bucky's offers to help clean the dishes.

They stood awkwardly in Steve's kitchen for a moment. Bucky didn't want to leave and he got the feeling that Steve didn't want him to either but he didn't want to make this into anything if there wasn't even anything there.

"I'd better head back. Thanks for the food."

Steve walked him to the front door. "You brought the steaks over. They were good."

"Maybe I can make dinner next week. You can bring over some more Gene Kelly musicals," Bucky said.

Steve smiled. "Yeah, that would be nice."

Bucky tried to think of something else to say but just nodded and walked back to his own house, turning back once to see Steve watching him from his front door, smiling when Bucky looked back.

Once in his own house, Bucky stood in his hallway, hands on his hips. This was so dumb; he wasn't the kind of guy to pussyfoot around when it came to someone he was interested in so why was he holding back with Steve? Because Steve wasn't like anyone else he had ever met, that was why. He didn't want to fuck this up. But...

He made a frustrated noise and opened his front door, intending to go back to Steve's house and say something. He'd decide what that was when he got there.

But when he opened his front door, Steve was standing on his porch about to knock on Bucky's door. He blinked. "Uh..."

"I was just coming back to see you," Bucky said, reining in his surprise.

"Bucky," Steve began. "I need to say something and I..." He frowned and glanced down at his sneakers.

Bucky reached out and curled his fingers in the collar of Steve's t-shirt, pulling him into the house. Steve looked surprised but allowed himself to be moved.

"Hopefully it's the same thing that I was going to say to you," Bucky said.

They were inches apart and Steve's blue eyes held Bucky's. "What were you going to say to me?" he asked softly.

Bucky unclenched his hand from Steve's t-shirt and rested his hands gently on Steve's shoulders. "I wanted to tell you...how much I - "

He was cut off as Steve surged forward and pressed his lips to Bucky's. Bucky kissed him back eagerly, one hand on Steve's neck.

"That's what I wanted to tell _you_ ," he said breathlessly between kisses, leading Steve to the living room after kicking the front door shut.

"I'm really glad," Steve gasped back, his hands tight and wonderful on Bucky's waist. "I'm so glad."

They fell into a heap on Bucky's couch. Bucky shoved away a few books and his hoody. "My house is really messy," he said.

Steve drew back and smiled and Bucky thought that this was the first time he had seen him really happy. "That's okay."

Bucky shifted so he was lying alongside Steve on the couch, running his hand down Steve's arm as they kissed. "What about Milo?"

Steve brushed Bucky's hair to the side and mouthed at his jaw. "It's okay, he's asleep." He chased Bucky's mouth with his again. "I'm really happy that this is happening," he whispered.

Bucky pulled Steve closer. "Me too."

***

"Good morning, Natasha," Bucky sang into the phone the next morning.

"Oh god, what's wrong? You never sound this chipper on a Sunday morning."

"Well, I have a reason to be," Bucky said with a grin.

"Oh oh oh! You tapped your hot neighbor!" That was Clint.

Bucky frowned. "Have you got me on speaker phone again? And no, I didn't "tap" him. We kissed."

"Awww," Clint cooed.

"Yes, _aw_. It was _amazing_. He's so sweet and gorgeous and I think...fuck. I think I _really_ like him." Bucky was surprised to hear the words come out of his mouth.

"And to think that all of this could have happened sooner had you just mown your lawn and cut your tree," Nat said.

"That's not...that may have never been a factor," Bucky mumbled.

"Uh-huh."

"Can we all just be happy for me?"

"Way to go, Buck!" Clint cheered.

"Hooray for you," Nat said.

"My fucking friends," Bucky muttered.

***

Things moved slowly and that was fine for Bucky. It was nice, just getting to properly know each other with endless dinners at each others houses, walking Milo once his casts were off and trying to stop the little dog from getting too excited and running himself ragged. Movie nights that ended up as make-out sessions. Bucky didn't care; he couldn't get enough of how warm Steve always felt, how stupidly gentle he was. And they talked about everything. There were no filters anymore and they poured themselves into each other: Bucky about his family and how it had taken him years to deprogram the feeling that he was worthless, Steve about his OCD and how he was sometimes scared that he would wake up one morning and be caught in some kind of loop that he'd never be able to get out of. Some days were bad for him, even his CBT sometimes never enough to help him and he washed his hands raw until his brain told him it was enough. Bucky would be there to rub lotion into them, helping Steve in the only way he knew how.

They couldn't fix each other alone, but they offered themselves to the other and it was better.

One evening, they were on Steve's couch watching some movie on Netflix. Bucky was distracted, his mind focussed on the way Steve rubbed his feet together. It was something he did often, rubbing them together in an even-numbered pattern.

"Everything okay?" Steve asked him after a while.

Bucky didn't move his head from Steve's shoulder. "I tried calling my folks today," he said quietly.

"What happened?" Steve asked.

Bucky shook his head. "They don't want to talk to me." As soon as Bucky had called, he knew that something had been irreversibly, irrevocably damaged between them. It stemmed from Becca's decision to leave the orchestra and Bucky knew his parents blamed him, that he had somehow persuaded Becca to do it. Becca was very upset and had tried her best to tell them otherwise but their family was broken now, possibly beyond repair.

"You tried, Buck. You were the bigger man and went to them. You did your best."

Bucky chuffed. "My best has never been very good."

Steve turned off the movie and turned Bucky to him. "That's not true. You tried with me and look where we are." He gave Bucky a small crooked smile and gently tucked his hair behind his ear.

Bucky didn't want to think about his family anymore. He leaned into Steve and kissed him, shifted so that he was sitting in Steve's lap, waiting for those hands to move to his waist and sighing softly into Steve's mouth when he felt their heat. He was more insistent in his kisses, in the way that he moved and Steve seemed to sense that, giving Bucky what he wanted. Steve broke the kiss after a while, his hands still holding Bucky tightly.

"Want to take this upstairs?" he asked.

Bucky smiled and let Steve lead him to his bedroom where they stayed until the next day, both of them calling in sick to work. Bucky learned a few new things about Steve during that time, like how he was very vocal when Bucky did something to him that he particularly enjoyed or how he liked to kiss when they were both close. When they were lying together afterwards, dozing and wrapped up in each other, he rubbed his feet together. Bucky counted the movements and fell into a dreamless sleep.

When Bucky woke up the next morning, Steve was sprawled next him; an ungraceful mess of splayed limbs and open mouth. Bucky smiled to himself, thinking about what he was going to do to Steve when he woke up.

It was only much later when they were eating sandwiches and watching Singin' In The Rain - Steve singing along with every song in a slightly off-key voice - that Bucky knew he was in love.

He must have been smiling because Steve looked at him with a grin. "What?" he asked.

Bucky put down his plate, his smile growing bigger. "I just want to tell you something."

***

The choice to move into Bucky's house had been Steve's.

"But your house is nicer than mine," Bucky had said over breakfast, when Steve had suggested it. They had been seeing each other for nearly a year.

"Superficially," Steve agreed, "but your house makes me feel better. I don't always feel like I have clean or make everything face the same way."

Bucky frowned. "That might change when you actually live here. Are you sure?"

Steve took Bucky's hand and started to play with his fingers. "When I'm at yours, I have to be considerate of what you want and how you live. It kind of helps my CBT to kick up a gear and...it just helps."

Bucky smiled and kissed Steve's fingers. "Then let's do it."

Steve still had bad days and Bucky's family would never be what he wanted it to be but they had each other. For now, that was more than enough.

***

Steve owned his house and decided to rent it out. He barely hesitated in starting to pack up his things and Bucky had the biggest spring clean of his life to accommodate Steve's belongings and some of his furniture.

They both spent the better part of a weekend moving boxes between their houses. All in all, it wasn't the hardest transition.

Bucky was taking a break in the front yard with a cigarette (now down to one pack a week) while Steve went back to his to pick up another box with Milo trotting happily after him.

His cell phone buzzed in his pocket. "Hey Clint."

"Hey dude. Did you book your train tickets to New York?"

"Yep. Did it last night. Steve's looking forward to meeting you and Nat. Just ease him in, okay? Don't rip him a new one right away," Bucky said.

Clint snorted. "It's not like he hasn't talked to us on Skype a million times."

"Yeah, but you two in real life is a very different experience."

"We'll be good," Clint promised. "How's the move going?"

"Yeah, pretty good. We're almost done actually." Steve appeared with another box, almost tripping over Milo on his way down the porch steps.

"So Steve's really ready to put up with all of your shit?" Clint asked.

Bucky smiled as Steve passed him on the driveway, a box in his hands. He kissed Bucky on the cheek quickly and headed back into the house.

Bucky watched him and felt his love for Steve wash over him again. "I'm not perfect and neither is he and you know what? We're both fine with that."

 

 


End file.
